


The light behind dark windows

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Suga does), A kind of powers/magic AU, F/F, M/M, and not everyone has one btw, he used to live with some ppl that did as well but were found out, now he's sad and alone, spoiler but so no one worries there is no major character death i'm not that mean, there will eventually be a happy ending no worries, where they are outlawed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:19:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in Sugawara Koushi's life has gone to shit. It was bad enough where, in a world where they were illegal, he had developed the Gift to shape other powers to his will, but now not only has he lost his home for the third time, but Suga still needs to go find Kiyoko, the leader of another group of outcasts much like the one he used to have, in the city where he had grown up and yet hasn't been to in eight years.<br/>Even with his once diplomatic mission turned into a please-help-me-I'm-homeless one, and his spirits crushed beyond relief, he cannot extinguish the growing hope of finding the old friends he used to have, specially the one that had stolen his fifteen-year-old heart and Suga still hasn't forgotten after all this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Suga ran. The forest blurred past him, a sea of brown and green that clawed at his face and hands with its sharp little fingers. The soil was slippery from last night’s rain and his trainers skidded on the mud, twisting his ankles again and again, and yet, he kept running. The screams still resonated in his ears, and flashes of red clouded his vision. He wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the gash at his side and disappointing stamina. But he had to, so he zoned out to the beat of his backpack slapping against his sweaty back and the harsh painful gasps tearing out of his throat and continued on. He was not going to die. He was going to reach the bus station, get out of this place, and heal, and live. And then he was going to hunt those bastards down and kill them. But for now, he wiped away his tears and kept running.

                                                                                                       ---------

The seat was not only violently ugly but also uncomfortable as hell. Who had even come up with the designs? And yet, the faded blue with its splatter of ugly-ass colourful squiggles brought back memories so sweet he ended up appreciating the back of the seat in front of him. He could almost taste again the spice of those late dinners he had shared with his high school friends, in winter when it was too cold to walk home from school. That had been so long ago now, before his parents had been found half buried in a ditch and he had had to move away with his grandparents. Everything had had to do with death from then on. He shook his head slightly. Going down memory lane right now would bring nothing pleasant. At least now he was able to look around the bus without puking, he had way too many uglier things pounding in his head. He didn’t even try to tell himself his misery was better than musing about untalented textile designers and their shameful creations for the next five hours.

Soon, everything was too warm. He figured that probably no-one had followed him as they knew he was going to die anyway. Or maybe, hopefully, they didn’t even known he existed. Suga sighted. And fidgeted. And readjusted the bag in his lap. Then squirmed to stretch his already numb legs a bit. He glanced back at the upholstery and cringed. So much for better times, it was still absolutely hideous. Everything was terrible and he definitely hated it, the unpleasant, cramped bus, the musty odour and his still damp clothes. He hid his face and allowed himself to snivel a bit. Then he patted his cheeks and straightened up. As awful as this all was, he had it much better than... well, he hoped not all of his friends. How deplorably had all their dreams crashed and burned.

With his guard down, the taunting flashes of the evening crawled into Suga’s already fuzzy head and cackled. It was too hard now to be his old optimistic self, and he flinched with every memory. He had seen everything, the lax limbs and sightless eyes of those he had lived and worked with for the last year. Everyone was dead, and he better start accepting it. Tears stung his eyes. He scrunched up his face and let out several long, quivering breaths. He could not do this. Shakily, Suga pulled his knees to his chest, squishing his bag in the process. He would not cry, not here, so he closed his eyes, hung back his head, and floated away to a darkness where he didn’t have to think about massacres and dead friends, much less anything at all.

                                                                                                           ----------

A sudden veer to the left woke Suga up. He blinked groggily a bit, and enjoyed a second of blissful amnesia before everything became fucked up again. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel it. It still weighted him down, but his aching body had already become so heavy he was numb to it all. He stared at the darkness sailing past his window. A person a few seats down was snoring so loud it rattled the whole bus, and Suga had the urge to scream. But he didn’t. He was made of lead now, ponderous and unfeeling and slowly poisoning himself.

He was still feverish and had started to shiver, his throat felt raw. The already confined space started to constrict around him. As insensitive as he was to everything, the gruesome movie continued to play behind his eyes, and closing them couldn’t pause it again. Slightly panting, he dug his jagged nails in his palms and sat impassively as it replayed over and over again: The first surprised shouts from inside the house. Suga dropping his backpack when he turned around and watched half of the first floor explode. Then his stumbling into the living room, frantically trying to do something to help while keeping his eyes off the bloodied floor and the dark lumps at the corner. Kageyama’s terrified eyes, so wide and blue as he fought for a few extra seconds to live. His final scream, and Suga’s answering one, piercing and rough and broken. The lightness of his arm as he left his the kitchen knife he had no idea he had picked up fly, the dull sound of the assassin hitting the wooden floor, Suga’s scrambling to shove the things on the table into a bag and get out. And then, running away. He had picked up his discarded backpack, rammed the other bag inside, and left them all in order to save what they had all worked so hard for and had ultimately brought their demise.

The bulging bag on Suga’s lap grew heavier and heavier, its sharp corners poking into his legs. The shards of what was left of his sanity stabbed into his skull and finally, blissfully knocked him out again. The last think he was aware of has his hand, loosening over the wrinkled address in the pocket of his hoodie.

                                                                                                            ----------

The gray haired man, rumpled and slightly twitching, slept though the rest of the journey. Not one of his fellow passengers noticed the slumped figure hidden at the back of the bus. They were all alone in their own miseries, the tired businessmen, the heavy-eyed college kids going back to the city after a weekend at home, and even the pair of runaway teenagers. They were all too preoccupied on their own affairs to pay any attention to the only surviving member of the group that, a mere week before, had discovered a way to triumph over the most feared and only fixed event of their lives: death.


	2. Chapter 2

Hazy ghosts still curled at the edges of Suga's dreams. Waking up was hard enough without spectral hands dragging him back to the dark. He could still see their faces, could somehow link them to names he once knew. How old they looked, with their barely lined faces and first patches of snowy hair. This world took its people too fast, and each year faster. It was called  Withering, the sudden death of people over thirty five. It once had been fifty. Now it was taking people half as old as that. Suga remembered his grandparents’ fear, and their resigned pride at the awed glances they received when they went out of the house. His grandfather had been fifty four when he Withered, one morning when mid-bite his body shook and collapsed onto his breakfast plate. 

It had been the first death Suga had ever seen, and it haunted him for months afterwards. Had it been as quick with his parents? Withering was peaceful if only in its quickness, and Suga doubted the same could be said about four stab wounds in the gut.

Suga's grandmother had still panicked at her husband's death, and how real it now seemed her own Withering. Maybe she though she could outrun her age and death, maybe she simply didn’t want to be reminded of it every time she went into her kitchen, so they moved away to an even smaller town with an ugly complicated name Suga had never bothered to learn correctly. In his mind the letters blurred to Eastermash, which even when when it sounded about right Oikawa had never stopped laughing about.  
Suga had moved in with him pretty soon after his grandmother Withered, a month after her husband and four years younger.

Suga's seat had hardly gotten more comfortable as the hours passed. He had been asleep for most of them, and now his body felt as awkwardly stiff as the seat's metal frame. He stopped zoning out when the impatient rustle of the other passengers getting ready to leave overpowered the soft breathing of those who were still asleep. The man who had snored so horribly had mercifully fallen silent about an hour ago. Suga rested his cheek on the window, letting his breath snow over his view of the now rapidly changing landscape.

\-----

The outskirts of the city were dark and silent, the mass of houses and shops breathing slowly with the rhythm of the night. As the bus slowed to a stop, Suga tried to convince himself for the hundredth time that he had doing the only thing he currently could. He was now alone for the third time in his life, and if he had gotten something positive out of the previous experiences, it was to keep moving. Grieving was no use if you couldn’t sharpen the fragments of your heart into something you could cut back with. It was better being driven by revenge than being driven by nothing.  
Wincing a little, he waited until everyone was gone and then made his laborious way down the aisle. His shirt had stuck to his torso with dried blood and his head felt like it suddenly had developed ideas of grandeur and turned into a hot-air ballon, focused on floating away into the unknown. He concealed any suspicious stains with his bag and hurried off, as inconspicuously as he could. 

The concrete of the road felt too hard and foreign beneath his feet. When was the last time he had been here? Eight years ago? He had not even set a foot in the actual city yet and he was already drowning with nostalgia. He hurried into the maze of buildings, much more spacious than where he had grown up and yet intimidating against his used-to-the-countryside large personal space.

Everything seemed so much smaller and dirtier than he remembered. The part of the city of his childhood was more to the west, in a nicer zone next to the canal, and yet the edges and shadowing of his surroundings made Suga’s heart ache. He couldn’t really think about that right now. Suga forcefully turned himself away and started walking south instead. The windows, some golden and some dark, watched impassively his laborious search for the nearest hotel. He had enough cash to afford one, and even more money on the credit card Oikawa had flashily given him before leaving for his originally planned trip.  
“Here, it’s untraceable. Nothing to do with any of us. You know, in case of emergencies”, he had told over the last breakfast they would share together. Oikawa had then combed a hand through his ridiculously perfect hair and winked. “Feel free to bring me something nice, as well!” 

Suga wondered if he would have ever found out about what had happened soon after if he hadn’t turned back for his forgotten house keys. He scowled, lightly, and tried not to think about never seeing Oikawa, as infuriating as he was, again. 

Apparently he was not meant to be able to think about anything anymore, everything had turned too painful. 

The uncomfortable brushing of his shirt against his wound convinced him to direct his zombie-like stumbling into a small convenience store. He had extra clothes, the ones he had packed in what felt an eternity ago, so that wasn’t an issue, but he was hungry and thirsty and probably in need of some medical supplies. A ton of sugar would be nice as well. He tried to appear casual as he bought some bandages, a weird smelling disinfectant cream, and an armful of Chips Ahoy!. As an afterthought, he grabbed a bottle of pink lemonade that caught his eye. Focusing now, he walked nonchalantly to the counter, trying to do so in a dignified, straight line. Through blurred vision, he smiled and payed, relieved with now a swinging plastic bag hanging from his wrist. He left and continued walking down the street. The uninterested clerk had not even noticed Suga’s valiant efforts to appear normal, which would have hurt a bit if it had not been for the best. At least this meant he was still graced with magnificent acting skills.

He continued his late night stroll, following the sides of buildings with his fingertips as to not topple over. He figured it strange that so far he hadn’t seen anywhere where he could stay, and was about to just let himself sit down for a bit on a park bench when a shabby little building caught his eye. He carefully turned that way, rehearsing what to say. Suga really hoped he didn’t look like he had just escaped a crime scene. The recent events continued taunting him from every cell of his body, and he wondered if he would ever breathe something other than the coppery smell that now tainted the air around him.  
Shuddering, he slapped a small, friendly smile on his face, readjusted his bag, and entered into the uncomfortably bright lobby. 

At the reception desk, a bored old man gave him a once over, grimaced a bit, then cautiously peered at his face. Suga didn’t let his smile drop and instead softly delivered his speech. His voice sounded harsh and tired, but the old man just took his name and money and gave him a key.

“Room 17, first floor, to the right.”  
“Sure, thank you. Goodnight.”

Only once he was safely in his room did he slump. Everything hurt so much. Carefully, he hid his bag under the bed and went into the bathroom. Under the dim, eerie light, he peeled off his shirt and winced. His side was a mess. Already on autopilot, he stripped completely and jumped into the shower. The cold tiles felt wondrous against his heated skin, and as much as the warm water stung, it did feel great to be clean. Even the wound on his side, which he had felt really worried about, looked like just a scrape. Well, a slightly deep and enormous scrape, but at least it would not only not kill him but didn’t even need stitching. Carefully, he wrapped it up, struggled back into his fortunately not-very-bloody hoodie and his boxers and collapsed into bed. 

A heavy, dark sleep hit him immediately, too profound for even nightmares to reach him. They still waited for him to resurface though, because they were not merely nightmares but a grisly, sober reality Suga would have to carry around for the rest of his days.

 

\-------

 

Rain always reminded Daichi of the grey haired kid who had been his best friend before suddenly disappearing. Every time the sky was painted grey and the slapping of raindrops against the city could be heard, Daichi remembered Suga’s soft smile and the little beauty mark at the corner of his left eye.  
But then, the weird jumble of emotions this evoked would be hidden behind a more superficial amusement. It was funny that he remembered Suga by the thing he had loathed the most. He could now look back on those days when they had had to wait at school for the sky to clear, and those when they had to give up and run to the bus stop, high held jackets wildly flapping over their heads, without the hurt and anger he had felt once. They still sometimes managed to bring an uncomfortable ache to his chest, though. Daichi had stopped liking the rain as much as he once did.

He cursed silently as he struggled to get his stupid umbrella closed and enter the cluttered flower shop.  
Noya was at the counter, enthusiastically explaining to Asahi the meaning of the different flowers he was sorting into a bouquet.  
Noya’s mother had been the last of their parents to fall victim to the Withering. It was hard, having people die so young of an incurable sickness, not only because it left most teenagers orphaned but because once they grew up they realized how little time they actually had. When was the Withering getting people at now? Forty? It had taken Noya’s mother at thirty-eight.  
Ever since then, he had been taking care of the shop she had left behind, and had soon started to love the business. It was an odd day when he wouldn’t rattle on about flower language or groan about the botanical atrocities he, as a florist, had been forced to create. Daichi was immensely glad about seeing him so happy again. Probably had to do with Asahi asking him out some months ago. 

The shop was looking even more vibrant than usual, the flowers practically dancing around Daichi as he made his way towards his friends. Had Asahi gotten even taller in the two months Daichi had been away? He towered over everything, and yet looked as comfortable as he rarely was. Noya saw Daichi first and sprang off the counter, gleefully cackling as he welcomed him back with some enthusiastic slaps to the back Daichi had to pretend didn't hurt too much.  
Asahi was more reserved, but still smiled warmly at his and gave him one of his big, if slightly timid, hugs.

"How have you been?! How was it?!" Noya asked once they had all settled down in the small room at the back of the shop, where an atrocious little mustard-coloured couch had been squeezed into.  
"It was fine, actually. I mostly stayed in base and repaired stuff. Once they even brought in a crashed plane and I spend like a week sorting the engine out. It probably flew slower than it originally did, but it flew, so yeah." Daichi had actually been bored out of his mind most of the time, but he couldn't tell them that. He had trained both as an army pilot and as a mechanic, but had only served as the latter. This time he had been called to one of the fronts in the south, in the middle of the Red Desert. It had been fine and all, but it did get pretty dull being shut into the roughly built base all day for two months, repeating again and again the same motions to sort out and reassemble the array of malfunctioning weapons they had gotten every day. It still was better than actually having to go out into the rusted plains and fight whatever the hell the others fought. Around here the only thing the small battalions ever fought was rouge groups of Gifteds, but down there, whatever they had been fighting for the last hundred years were certainly not human. Judging from the gigantic bite marks Daichi had found and had had to replace one of the plane's wings for, and the dark silhouettes that could sometimes be seen rising against the intensely blue sky, he figured he couldn't really complain about being "bored".  
In any way, he was really glad to be back home now, with his friends, own soft bed, and great off-time pay. Daichi really hoped he wouldn't be called back anytime soon.

 

\-------

 

The dark green uniforms still rushed around Suga’s head when he startled, ran to the bathroom, and vomited. God, he felt awful. Dying awful. By now he was sure he was burning with fever and probably needed help. He was still better than he had been last night, though, as he was able to string together some coherent thoughts. Stumbling, he crossed the room, put the Do Not Disturb sign up at the door, and returned to the bathroom. Under the slightly bloodied bandages, his side was a mess, worse than it had been the night before. He figured it must be infected or something, the skin swollen and worryingly purple around it, like a bruise. Bruises. He was covered in those too. Gripping the sink for support, he rinsed his mouth and face and looked into the mirror. He was too pale, and the shadows under his eyes made them seem wide and scared. That, he was. He had been stupid, yesterday night, when he had carelessly waltzed into the hotel and not only paid with a credit card but left his bloodied clothes on the bathroom floor. Angrily, he filled the tube with cold water and dumped all his clothes into it. Then he returned to bed, where he collapsed. The white plastic bag on his nightstand caught his eye. He rolled over and reached inside, leaving the cookies aside and just grabbing the bottled lemonade. As hungry as he was he still knew that his stomach was serious on regurgitating whatever solid dared venture into it, so he let it be for now. The lemonade was sweet and probably would replenish his strength, or at least keep him alive until he dared to call reception to ask if they had room service, or even felt well enough to go himself to look for food.

In the claustrophobic domains between awakening and sleeping, Suga wondered if the cycle was to repeat itself infinitely. When he had lost his parents, the first week living in the countryside, he had caught the flu. Then later, when his grandmother had finally left him alone again, he had felt so bad he had ended up in the only small corner store the little town had to offer, trying to buy some aspirin. The funeral had been too sad and desolate, his grandmother had not made many new friends in the last couple of years, and thus had been pretty lonely. Suga had ended up buying way too much liquor instead, and afterwards waking up in Oikawa’s sofa with the headache of his life. Suga still remembered how awful he had felt, lying there still in his rumpled dark suit with a thin blanket haphazardly thrown over him. Oikawa had soon come down the spiral staircase, his pastel blue bathrobe trailing behind him. After a way too enthusiastic greeting, and a poorly hidden grimace, he had cordially lend Suga his shower and some clothes he could change into. It was surprising how he had been so nice to a stranger, but very fortunate, and a month later Suga had permanently moved into one of the guest-rooms in Oikawa’s big, then empty house.  
At first they had spend their free time getting to know each other with lots of drinking, sad confessions, and bad movies on a smuggled TV Oikawa had hidden in the basement. But then, only three weeks later they were the founders of a highly illegal society for people with highly illegal powers. The Society of Light, as Oikawa had dumbly named it once and had unfortunately stuck, continued growing, and so did Suga's happiness. 

It was a tragic twist of fate that a year layer he was lying in a foreign bed, dying of fever, and alone again. He took another small, sad gulp of the bottle of lemonade from his bedside table and went back to sleep. Maybe he could go back to those happy times and even allow himself to hope a bit in the land where everything was possible, so he graciously succumbed to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

His fever has been surpassed, the wound on his side was nothing more than a pale stipe of healing tissue that barely hurt, and Suga had finally, after three days, managed to drag himself out of the hotel. The unsympathetic clerk had even dared to look mildly surprised, which was a bit offensive, in Suga's humble opinion. 

The city still looked too foreign to him. It was too loud and moving too fast even in the morning. Still, it lacked the vibrancy of the country, how sober yet full of life the forest surrounding Oikawa’s house had been. Suga missed the freshness of it, the soft power in the sharpness of the air those mornings he had had to leave the house early to run some errands before breakfast. Feeding thirteen people had been no easy job, specially when Iwaizumi ate almost as much as three of them together. 

Suga though that right now he could even give Iwa-chan a run for his money. He had been living off packeted cookies, bottled lemonade, and the crappy coffee the hotel offered, and as weird as the idea of walking into one of the cafés that sprang up every few streets felt, it was seeming more and more appealing as the morning wore on. Walking here was no small feat, after all. The city had been built perched on a mountainside, and as it had expanded it had grown upwards. Nowadays, from afar, the top of the buildings looked like a gigantic set of stairs towards the imposing construction that crowned the peak of the mountain and the stuck-up members of the council fought relentlessly. With all its crooked domes, Suga thought that rather than a crown it looked like a very ugly hat. 

It was sad, the way these people lived their whole lives entrapped in a forest of stacked concrete boxes. Even the air felt stuck, hovering white in the mornings and dejectedly crawling along the cobbled streets once it got too hot for the mist. 

Suga wondered, not for the first time, if his fever had really broken or he was simply trapped in another one of the strange, awful dreams he had been subjected to the last three days. 

Okay, he had to stop. He had wallowed in his misery for too long now, and it was time to stop and focus on other things. For him, an unlucky sad person who had already lost too many people, bouncing back was easy, so he had to try. Suga was on a mission, after all. The crumpled address lay in his closed fist: Crow street no. 1. It should be around here. 

At the next corner, Suga found himself suddenly assaulted by a heavenly smell, and his stomach growled in wonder. No more convincing was needed. If he deserved something, it was certainly a warm, nice breakfast, along with the sweetest coffee he could find.

 

                                                                                    --------

 

“This was not your fault, Hajime!”

Oikawa’s voice, too high and broken, still resonated in Iwaizumi’s head. But hadn’t it been his fault, ever since the moment he decided to join the army, the same organisation against what he was and everything he loved? His dark green uniform was now an embodiment of his shame, a painful reminder of his stupidity at thinking he could protect them all by keeping their enemies closer. 

Half of their home was on the ground, still smothering. The other half was a charred memory of all they had worked for for the last four years. The flames were gone now, quenched by the rain, but an aura of fierce desperation still clung to the few exposed beams that were left of the structure, like the ghosts of the fire. Iwaizumi breathed a few times through his nose, and lifted. The heavy rafter buckled a moment in his grasp, and then was thrown slightly aside. It was enough to uncover a small, twisted form, blackened beyond recognition. Iwaizumi, fighting back tears, swallowed and turned around. Whoever they had bee, they had been one of the young ones, kids that had come looking for help. He wondered how many of them had died thinking of their Gifts as a curse, and then if they had been right, in those last moments when they had been murdered for something they couldn’t control. Iwaizumi grabbed another blanket from the pile he had been carrying and gently lay it over the body. He could not do anything more right now. 

A loud crash startled him enough for his fingertips to spark to life. Gently, he let the ribbons of light that had formed around his fingers twist around them before letting them fade. 

“Oikawa?” He called.

“Over here!” Came the gruff answer. Iwaizumi hurried to the brunette’s side, grimly hoping for nothing too gruesome. 

Tooru was squatting above a hole inside of what once had been the dinning room. The planks of the floor had burned away in some places but stubbornly remained in others, looking like a delicate surface too treacherous to cross. Still, Tooru had done so, and now was pointing down at what was probably the basement. Iwaizumi carefully made his way towards him. 

“Iwa-chan, give me some light?” 

Tooru’s tone was too serious, nothing like the old sing-song tone he usually had, and it felt like another shard to Iwaizumi’s heart. Without looking towards him, Iwaizumi complied. Light bended and twisted around his right hand, before forming into a sphere and delicately floating down. It had taken him years to reach this kind of control, and he loved it, loved the effort he had spend in his Gift much unlike that he had wasted in two years serving the military. He hoped they didn’t believe him dead, not yet, so he could be thought of as a deserter in the morning when he didn’t show for work. Now that he didn’t have anything to protect he didn’t have to bother with keeping up the front.

The light came to rest a few inched above concrete. And there, surrounded by an amber-like cocoon, was a perfectly intact human hand. Iwaizumi directed the light towards it, and wanted to laugh in relief when it revealed Kageyama, probably safe but very frozen in time. 

Kageyama, unlike him or even Oikawa, had been able to master his abilities almost instantly. Along with a very powerful Gift, he had a natural ability to use it and could stop time at will, but only for a few minutes at most. This was different, harder, and way out of what he had been able to do in the past. Tooru squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. The Kageyama statue started slowly levitating up. Now that he was closer, and Iwaizumi could see him more clearly, he marveled at the details that had escape him before: the expression of fear/concentration, eerily similar to Oikawa’s, how the amber cocoon was actually the afternoon light that enveloped the stiff teen, and finally, a silver, suspended bullet, deadly aimed at Kageyama’s heart. Whoever had fired it was nowhere to be seen, and would hopefully remain that way. 

“He’s still alive, or his Gift would have stopped, you know? Now we only need to snap him out of it.” Muttered Oikawa, his voice beautifully hopeful once again.

Iwaizumi grimaced. Kageyama’s power had saved his life, but could take it away as well. Once his energy ran out, would he fade away with it? Or would he unfreeze first? 

Whatever happened, they had more pressing matters now. It was slightly possible that there were other survivors as well, and they had to be found. 

And so they went back to searching.

                                                                                                    ----------

The fateful reunion with his long-lost childhood friend was not really going as Suga had envisioned. How long had it been now, since a very tall apparent stranger had suddenly halted by his table, gaped at him and incredulously muttered his name? 

Asahi’s mouth had been hanging open too long now, and Suga had the almost uncontrollable urge to put something in it. Maybe Asahi would even appreciate the help. 

“Suga?!”

“Yes!” Suga surprised himself by finally smiling, wide and genuine, as he answered the same question for the second time.

 Asahi continued to stare, and his mouth continued to hang open. Suga couldn’t stop himself anymore so he delicately grabbed the spoon he had previously been stirring his coffee with and shoved it in his friends mouth, snorting a laugh when he spluttered and pawed at his face, which was so blushed was possibly in danger of combustion. 

Asahi might have grown intimidatingly tall, but he still was a gigantic goofball. Well, now with emphasis on the gigantic part.

He was now back at staring at him, but with his mouth carefully closed. He was also about four shades redder and awkwardly holding the offending spoon. 

Suga smiled even wider and motioned to him, but avoided staring directly into the other’s eyes. He was nervous and completely unprepared for this, but on the other hand excitement had started to set in.

“Hi! Sit down, sit down, it’s been ages! How’ve you been?”

Slowly, as if still in shock, Asahi folded his large frame on the chair in front of Suga’s. And then, his face broke into a huge grin. Suga inwardly sighted in relief.

“Oh, it’s been fine. Wha- what are you doing here? I mean, when did you get back? And where the hell have you been?” 

Asahi’s voice sounded deeper, and as he talked he slowly brushed a strand of long brown hair behind his ear. Damn, that hair was amazing. Suga focused back into the table, and then into the general vicinity of his old friend’s eyes.

“Oh, I got here just yesterday! Yesterday night. I crashed at Queen Anne’s Motel, which is a name way too fancy for the ugly mauve carpeting. I’m staying there still.” Okay, two lies, two truths. Suga had changed hotels to one closer to here this morning, once he had felt good enough to move, and now he was staying in Queen Anne’s. Which actually was pretty ugly.

“Yeah, Suga, but where have you _been_?” Asahi had turned serious now, and Suga started to fidget under the table. “It’s been like seven years!”

“Ugh, eight and a half, actually. And well, I’ve been here and there, you know? Once my grandpa died, Gran moved us to a little town like six hours away. That was like five years ago.” Suga conveniently left out the part of his Gran dying soon after that, and him joining The Society of Light and staying in there for a year. By then he hadn’t been so sure about wanting to return, and probably wouldn’t have. Obviously, he also definitely left out the part of him being one of the (un)lucky few with a Gift. 

After several beats of silence, Asahi seemed to finally explode.

“What the fuck, Suga! How can you be so calm?! Last I heard of you you had disappeared to god-knows-where and _eight and a half_ years later you show up, looking like you were brought back from the dead, and act like you went to the beach for summer break?! What are you even doing here?!”

Suga swallowed and looked around nervously, smiling awkwardly to the people that were shooting them curious or annoyed glances. Finally, he inched his eyes and finally looked into Asahi’s hazel ones. He was shocked with the emotions he found there, mainly anger and hurt. Suga let out a small, sad sigh.

“Sorry, I... I was just happy about seeing you again. Both my grandparents died some time ago, and I just recently managed to come back. Not anyone is allowed in the city, and if I hadn’t been born in here I wouldn’t had been able to return. It’s been a rough trip.” 

“Oh, ugh, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just been so long!”

As much as Suga hated lying to Asahi, he had to admit it was averting many crisis, and plus, he didn’t want to endanger his friend. So no secrets.

Asahi continued. “You haven’t seen any of the others, have you? Oh, this is so great! Are you free after this? You have to go meet Noya, he works right around the corner, in Crow street. And probably we’ll find Daichi around there as well! We could go talk to the park or something. So what do you say?”

Oh, ok. Daichi. Simply the mentioning of his name managed to chase everything away from Suga’s mind. Ridiculous, how after all these years he was still crushing as hard on his once best friend. Hopefully still best friend. Had he changed? What and how was he doing now? 

Suga grinned. “Sure! Sounds great, actually!”, he answered, and stood up. Asahi followed him, looking as happy. Suga smiled goodbye at the barista and took his coffee out. What a great invention, take-out coffee. Once out of the cramped café, Suga turned to Asahi. 

“Can I give you a hug?” He asked.

Asahi’s eyes turned soft, and he hugged Suga tightly. 

“Welcome back, Suga.”

“Thank you. It’s great to be back”

And together they made their way to Noya’s flower shop, their conversation still somewhat hesitant but now closer to what they used to have, when they were happy teenagers and unworried best friends.


	4. Chapter 4

About two months after Suga had moved in with Oikawa, Tooru had suddenly looked out of the window and bolted out of the house. It had been a snowy night, and behind the veil of falling snowflakes a lone silhouette could be seen making its way towards the house. Oikawa had full on sprinted towards it, leapt into his arms and kissed him full on the mouth. Suga had rushed to close the curtains to give them some privacy. When they had finally come into the house, Suga had had mint tea ready for them, and thus had met Iwaizumi, childhood friend and the love of Oikawa’s life. It had been a bright moment in Oikawa’s life, and had become his favorite story to dramatically reenact while drunk. The kids had been crazy about it. 

But unlike Oikawa and Iwaizumi, there had been nothing between Daichi and him, except a really strong friendship and lots of unrequited pinning from Suga's side. He had no hopes it could ever be something more, and it was pointless wondering about it. And yet, Suga’s heart treacherously beat faster and faster with every step he took. Suga was going to see Daichi again, and as giddy as he felt he was also mortified. Asahi, on the contrary, seemed more and more relaxed. His strides, although long, were slow, and Suga focused on keeping up with him. What was to come would come.

The morning kept getting warmer, as well as Suga’s and Asahi’s conversation. Suga found himself smiling more and more, and the weight of the last few days starting to lift from his shoulders. The world regained back some colour as well, and as they made their way to a small flower shop at the opposite corner of Crow street, the city stopped feeling as claustrophobic. It was then that Suga noticed that he had been too absorbed in the conversation to remember to look around for the address in his pocket. He surprised himself with not caring that much. He’ll have time afterwards.

 

\------

 

Business was blooming almost as majestically as Noya’s flowers now did ever since Asahi had started visiting the shop more frequently. Noya could sympathize, his boyfriend was truly amazing.   
He finally got some time off when his last costumer left, and he sighted, long and deep. Even with all his energy, he would have been on the floor by now if it wasn’t for the extra help Daichi now lent him. That guy was too hardworking for his own good, but Noya could honestly not complain.  
Even when Daichi had proven to be a little bit too scary to sell bouquets and small houseplants, and knew nothing about them to begin with, he had been a great help running errands and getting the things Noya needed from the highest shelves. Asahi no longer had to rush from the library across the street every time he couldn’t reach something, which was useful but a huge pity. Where was he, by the way? As far as Noya knew, Asahi’s break had started fifteen minutes ago, and by now he would have been here with the coffee he knew Noya liked from Nekoma Café and Asahi always brought him. He shouldn’t probably worry, but...   
“Hey Daichi, could you run down to Nekoma and see if you see Asahi please? And maybe bring me some coffee?”

Daichi raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lips in a half smile, but hurried to comply. To give himself something to do, Noya started to clean the counter with a rag, trying to remain calm. 

As soon as Daichi opened the door, though, he was met with Asahi’s big frame. He brought no coffee, though, so Daichi surrendered to his fate, and the conversation he was going to have to endure with Kuroo. Noya’s sigh of relief was lost to him.

“Asahi! Noya was looking for you. I’m going to run down to Nekoma to get some co-” Asahi smirked slightly when Daichi abruptly stopped and fixed his stare behind him, at Suga. But then Asahi noticed Noya’s paleness and wide eyes and rushed inside, leaving them alone.

Suga and Daichi watched him go, frozen a foot away from each other after being separated for eight years. And then, Daichi smiled, brown eyes twinkling. Suga let out a small laugh, still somewhat incredulous, and then they both stepped towards each other and embraced warmly. Tears started pricking at Suga’s eyes, and he pulled back, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Daichi was still smiling, and his eyes roamed across Suga’s face. “I knew you would come back.” He said, his voice deep and unwavering, despite how his eyes had started shining with tears as well. 

Suddenly, the morning stopped spinning around them. Suga hadn't realized this day too had been in shards until they all came back into place.  
The cracks were still there, but the filter of loss and pain he had been surrounded with had dissipated, and there, clear and happy, stood Suga’s long lost best friend, with whom he had finally reunited.

 

\-------

 

Leaving the remains of their house behind had been hard, and Oikawa still felt the hollow in his chest shredding the air he breathed in and out. Kageyama had been the only survivor they had been able to find, and they still needed to find a way to unfreeze him. 

The night now cloaked them as walked the last yards towards the small cottage that served as their safe house, too deep in the forest to be found out. Hopefully. 

Oikawa yawned and looked at Iwaizumi, cringing when he saw his tired eyes and heavy steps. They had taken turns carrying Kageyama, and Iwaizumi’s arms looked strained around the teen’s inanimate torso.   
“Everything OK, Iwa-chan?”  
“Shut up, Assikawa.”

Oikawa knew by now not to take his crankiness seriously, so he simply smiled sweetly at him. 

“Don't be mean. We're fine now, so go rest a while.”

The house smelled unused and dusty, but it was warm. Iwaizumi looked surprised but thankful as he shot Oikawa a soft smile and retired upstairs. Once he could hear the shower running, he turned to Kageyama, who was awkwardly propped up on the couch.

“So, Tobio, how's it going?”

Tobio, of course, didn't answer. They seriously had to figure a way to help the kid. Meanwhile Oikawa just got up and went into the kitchen, searching for something edible. Suga had had them all spoiled, cooking dinner for them everyday, and even when he was pleasantly surprised to find an edible can of peaches he was still disappointed. He missed Suga. He set the can and two clean spoons on the counter and now that he was finally alone, slid to the floor slowly and put his head in his hands. Everything had gone so, so wrong.  
Iwaizumi’s silent footsteps went unnoticed until he sat down next to Oikawa, his dark hair wet after his quick shower, and Oikawa allowed himself to melt into his warm side. They sat silently for a while, until Oikawa murmured: “There’s a can of peaches in the counter.”  
The other snorted quietly, but reached towards it. They ate silently, sitting in the dirty floor.   
Iwaizumi hated peaches. He finished what he could and when Oikawa stopped eating as well, stood up, reaching a hand to help Tooru up. And then their eyes met. They both winced when they noticed the same shame that corroded their insides shining from the other’s eyes.   
Oikawa exhaled softly, every word he had been about to say suddenly dead on his lips. He let Iwaizumi pull him up, and together they walked upstairs and sat on one of the dusty beds. And then, Iwaizumi let out a loud, broken sob.

“Oh my god Tooru, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I should have warned you...” 

Oikawa shushed him and pulled him into his arms. He felt small and cold, and Oikawa’s heart broke all over again. Memories from long ago started surfacing to his mind, of the first time they had ever grieved together. They had been seventeen and their parents had just said goodbye to them for the last time. He remembered far too clearly what Iwaizumi had said then, while they had been clutching at each other and sobbing. “It’s really no one’s fault, you know? Not ours, not theirs. It’s just the way this blasted wold is, okay?” 

And so Oikawa cupped the other’s cheeks, turning Hajime’s face upwards and wiping his tears withs the pads of his thumbs. “It’s really no one’s fault, you know?” He murmured. Iwaizumi just cried louder.

 

\--------

 

The first rays of sunshine drifted through the dirty window and glided down to Iwaizumi’s skin and the couch where they had left Kageyama last night. Oikawa was still sleeping upstairs, he didn’t want to give him faith in a desperate plan he had somewhat come up with in his sleep. And so, Iwaizumi took a deep breath before he allowed his power to stretch towards the motionless kid. Or more specifically, the halo of sunlight that hung around him, too bright to belong to this time of the day. He felt the resistance that Kageyama’s power inflicted on his, fighting over the control of the same molecules. Iwaizumi pushed, trying to tear apart whatever forces kept the light inert. He started feeling the energy drawing dangerously too fast out of his chest, and he gave one final desperate shove. He could feel a sudden, blissful give and then, too easily, the shell around Kageyama splintered, and finally dissipated with a sizzling sound. 

Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, Kageyama's ridiculous spluttering the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in a long time.

 

\--------

 

Tsukishima knew it was none of his business, but as little as he cared he kept on watching the flower shop across the street. Asahi, back from his break, was doing the same. Tsukishima clicked his tongue and went back to shelving some new arrivals that looked like they weren't going to be sold in a long while. 

It was weird to see people from outside the city these days, the borders were too controlled to let many in. The only “foreigners” they had were people from the other side of the city, which did have to travel a few hours to get here but weren’t technically from somewhere else. And yet the guy everyone had made such a big fuss over was clearly from outside the city. He moved differently than they all had learned how to, breathed in too deep to be used to to the polluted air. 

The day was about to end, and Asahi wasn’t doing much either. He had just moved away from the window to help an old guy find a cookbook or something. So, bored out of his mind, Tsukishima let the tight leash he had on his Gift slacken to be able to hear across the street. After a few seconds of focusing, he managed to isolate the conversations that were being held inside Nishinoya’s shop. And wished he hadn’t. He could hear the nervous buzzing of Noya and the poorly disguised heavy flirting that was going on between the guy from outside the city and the other scary one who had also recently arrived as well. 

Not even his love for drama managed to keep him eavesdropping, and he focused back to normal while rolling his eyes. Tsukishima was done with all these dumb, oblivious people disturbing his internal peace. First, it had been those two, Asahi and Noya, that after ages of longing glances when the other wasn't looking and very obvious pinning from both sides had finally, thankfully gotten together. But now, they had been somewhat replaced by these two pathetic idiots. He was torn between storming over there and telling them to kiss already and stop annoying him, and letting them sort it out themselves with zero effort from his part. Whichever worked, he guessed, an returned to the books.   
Until the door jingled and a certain freckled mess walked in. Ok, so maybe the two guys weren't the only ones who were filled with love related insecurities. Tsukishima just wished his case wasn't as painfully obvious, but hopefully as reciprocated. How hypocritical of him to sneer at the other people in the hell of hopeless crushes and other love related indecisions. If someone had it bad, it was himself.

 

\--------

 

The address was a fake. There was no number 1 in Crow street, and certainly no large congregation of Gifts whose energy he could be able to feel. Suga sighted, glared accusingly again at Crow street no. 2, and defeatedly walked away. Now what? He started to make his way back to his hotel, trying no not get consumed by the disappointment that had flared in his gut. Trying to formulate a new plan seemed too complex right now, in the indigo light of the late evening. He had spent the whole day with his old friends, helping in the flower shop and in the library where Asahi worked and of course catching up. It was amazing how insignificant those eight years had seemed after a few hours, how fast the awkwardness of separation had dissipated. Suga knew they were still a long way away from what they used to have, but now he felt less than an outsider and with an actual chance of calling them best friends again. 

Suga suddenly became aware of the soft footsteps of someone behind him, and unleashed his gift. There was a small choked off scream as Suga whirled around, discovering two wide amber eyes staring fearfully at him. Shit.  
" Sorry, sorry!"  
Suga let his power dissipate, and watched a the kid lowered his head and continued gasping for air, hands pressing on his chest.  
"I'm really sorry..." Suga said again, and watched as the kid flickered in and out of visibility.  
Finally, he looked up, the long bleached tips of his hair half covering his face.  
"How did you do that?" He asked  
"How do you turn invisible?" Suga retorted.  
The kid lowered his eyes again. "I'm Kenma," he murmured, "and I think you might want to go and talk with Kiyoko."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update... I've been too busy with boring stuff to post when i would have liked. (like a week ago tbh).
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your support guys!
> 
> (btw season 2 is amazing i can die happy now, as inconvenient as dying would be)
> 
> (pls tell me if i made any mistakes i kinda rushed this ._.)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. This is the first fanfic I've ever written. How have I gotten to this point in my sad life I have no idea. Probs was all that anime.
> 
> But well, thanks for reading! Any suggestions/constructive criticism/whatever is welcome and probably needed. 
> 
> Thanks again! :)


End file.
